


Party Vibes

by Mystical



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical/pseuds/Mystical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave shifts beside you, uncharacteristically quiet (because he’s biting his tongue trying to hold back incriminating noises and nope your mind is not wandering down that dark path because you don’t need to start popping boners, too). “I’ll make it up to you,” you promise earnestly, pretending that the red flush on your face is because of the wind and not because. Well.</p><p>Her gaze softens. “I am holding both of you to that promise,” she says, eyes drifting from you to Dave, and you nudge him again because having a vibrator up one’s butt is no excuse for not being polite.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Party Vibes

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Rose put up with your shit.

“Dave, are you sure you’re alright? You look quite red.”

“Peachy.” To his credit, his voice didn’t waver. You finger the remote in your pocket, briefly flick the dial up and back down again, and he coughs to cover how he slapped a hand over his mouth to smother his hitched moan.

“Actually, Rose, I think you’re right,” you say, tone carefully schooled to be apologetic. “He does look sort of sick.” You elbow him and roll your eyes as if exasperated, geez Dave, you’re sick and you’re still trying to tough it out! what a dick. He glares at you when you slip your hand in his arm before staggering out of his seat, stumbling against you, flushed red to the tips of his ears. “Sorry!” You continue. You actually do feel sort of bad – this is Rose’s party, after all, her first novel broke a million sales. The feeling lessens considerably when Dave shifts and something hard presses against your thigh.

She smiles as she escorts you through her house (mansion, none of you lack funds but it’s never more obvious than when you’re in Rose’s house or even around her presence). “Oh, it’s quite alright,” she says as both of you slip your shoes on. She winks when the door opens and winter wind buffets your face. “Have fun.”

You smile again, a little bashful. This is Rose, of course she knows, it is a proven fact that attempting to hide things from her is a hopeless gesture. Her lavender eyes bore into your skull and Dave shifts beside you, uncharacteristically quiet (because he’s biting his tongue trying to hold back incriminating noises and nope your mind is not wandering down that dark path because you don’t need to start popping boners, too). “I’ll make it up to you,” you promise earnestly, pretending that the red flush on your face is because of the wind and not because. Well.

Her gaze softens. “I am holding both of you to that promise,” she says, eyes drifting from you to Dave, and you nudge him again because having a vibrator up one’s butt is no excuse for not being polite.

“Yeah, sure,” he mutters, somehow managing to sound distracted and dismissive (his hands are digging into your arm almost hard enough to bruise) and Rose arches one brow, shakes her head before clicking the door shut.

You flick the dial again because you’re a dick and the way he breathes a hitched moan right next to your ear has to be on purpose. Tease. Rolling your eyes, you tug him toward the car before (you pop your own boner wow wouldn’t that be embarrassing) he gets frostbite or something because even now you feel him shivering beside you, unused to the New York winter.

Though part of that might also be due to arousal.

(you are Not Thinking About That god why are you so bad at this)

He sags in relief when he crawls into the passenger seat, before tensing up again as you flick the dial up and keep it there. You laugh at the look he gives you.

“It was your idea,” you point out as you start the engine. He groans and slides down in his seat, running sword-calloused rough fingers through his fine blond hair.

“Shut up.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, dickmunch, and do up your seatbelt. I’m pretty sure this isn’t the way you want to go.” Actually, knowing Dave…

“Shut _uuup._ ” He fumbles with it anyway, and you note with smug satisfaction that his fingers are shaking.

Even now, when he’s so turned on it took him five tries to slide his seatbelt into the buckle, he’s still a brat. It’s reassuring knowing some things will never change. Your hand drops in your pocket again, fingers the remote, runs over the surface until – aha. Over to your right, Dave groans and arches off the seat as the vibrations go from smooth, continuous stimulation to long, slow pulses.

“Remember to not touch yourself,” you say cheerily as you back your car out of Rose’s driveway. The forty minute drive back to your hotel is gonna be fun.

“Egbert – I hate you s-sssso much right now fuck, can I please, can I, please, please…” he’s shifting his hips, trying to seek friction from air – or more like he’s rutting against the seam of his jeans and pushing back against the seat, angling the vibrator _just_ right-

You’d glare at him if you weren’t driving. “You heard me the first time.”

His body is one taut string, and then he deflates, sinking back into his seat. “Fuck,” he whimpers quietly, and you know he’s purposely hamming it up, taunting you, and

(you are a weak man because it’s working and it’s working well, damn Dave for being so good at this.)

You never told him to stay quiet, and you’re starting to regret that decision by the time you pull up into the hotel parking lot. Your dick is so hard it almost hurts, and you do _not_ enjoy driving with a raging hard-on.

“Thank god your dad made us bring these long-ass jackets,” Dave mutters when you help him out of the car, and you wince.

“Don’t bring my dad into this. Please.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Why? I’d b-“

You slap your hand over his mouth and press the button again so the vibrations turn from long, pulsing waves to short, staccato bursts and he almost bites your hand. “No, Dave, we are _not talking about this.”_ You glare at him, and only pull your hand away when he nods.

He follows you inside, sticking close to you and bouncing impatiently in front of the elevator doors. “Should’ve just taken the stairs,” he gripes.

“Dave, I’m not walking up three flights with a boner.”

He flushes clear down to his neck and it’s cute how flustered he gets when talking about this kind of stuff, even with no one else around to hear. “Not like it’s gonna stay up when walking up three flights, Christ, Egbert, what are you, some kind of magic boner wizard, do I have to fight Rose for you, I’m not sure my appreciation of your ass can counter her wizard fetish-“

The elevator is thankfully empty when you step in. Your boner actually did deflate some when you stepped out of the car; it’s not much of a boner anymore and Dave’s right, the stairs would’ve been faster compared to this slow-moving, ancient elevator, but. You enjoy teasing him a little too much.

He’s _still talking_ when the elevator arrives at your floor. “Dave, shut up.”

“Make me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Cockslut.” You hear the start of a hitched moan before he bites it back.

The moment you step into the hotel room, he’s on you, lips hot against your own, fingers impatiently brushing your jacket back so it slides to the floor before they slip under your shirt and feverishly touches your skin. He traces your stomach, your sides before digging into the muscles at your back, arching his hips against yours as his tongue slides against your lips, your teeth, aaaaand there’s your boner. Hi, little John.

You indulge him for a bit before pulling away, laughing at his needy whimper and kicked puppy look. “The bed is literally five steps away,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“I want you _now,”_ he says sulkily but pulls back anyway and follows you to the newly-made bed.

You sort of feel bad for whoever has to clean this up. Your worry fades when he presses against your back, grinds his cock against you and nips your neck hard enough to leave marks. He laves over the hickies apologetically and whimpers – by now the pleasure’s probably so strong it borders on pain.

You slide onto the bed and rest against the pillows, and he crawls up after you, ducking his head and sucking your lower lip into his mouth. This time it’s you who groans and you _feel_ the shiver that slides from his lower back to his shoulders. Laughing softly, you palm the front of his jeans, and his hips jerk down almost unconsciously as he bites your lip hard enough to bruise.

From here you can feel the vibrations, soft periodic thrums against your fingers. “Feel good?” You ask, smirking against his lips and he tugs off his shades, shoots you a look that says ‘what kind of stupid question is that’ before leaning over and placing them on the bedside table.

You squeeze him through his jeans and he whines, panting against your neck, placing soft kisses against the skin and everywhere his lips touch tingles like he’s a searing brand. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing down against your palm. “Please – please, it’s good, it’s so good, Egbert I- John I need, I need, _please…_ ”

“Mmm.” You undo his jeans and he sits, trembling still in your lap, face buried in your neck. “Good boy,” you coo, and he whimpers, hips nudging forward. You find his dick again and he gasps, biting down on your shoulders, forcing himself to stay still except for the tiny movement his hips make as he tries to encourage your hand. You take your time exploring him, tracing his outline through his boxers and he whines, loud and desperate.

“Asshole,” he growls with no real malice. You pause and he whines, nudging into your touch. “No no no I didn’t mean – no please don’t stop, please, I-“

“Oh my god, you’re so needy.” You smooth down his back with your other hand and go back to touching him, nudging his dick with feather-light touches.

“You love it,” he gripes, before making a frustrated noise and arching his hips again. “John, c’mon – do I have to beg, do I have to call you daddy, master, sir, _please_ I’ve been turned on this whole fucking day just—touch me, John, touch me shit-“ you laugh as he sucks in a harsh breath, biting another mark into your neck and whining low in his throat when you finally slip your hand through the opening in his boxers and grip his cock. “Fuu _uuck,_ ” he gasps, mouth softly dropping open and you kiss him as you pump him and he comes with a desperate gasp, too far gone to even speak.

You give him a moment to recuperate before sliding the vibe out of him, and he shudders and goes lax against you, pressing sloppy open-mouthed kisses against your lips. You wipe your soiled hands on the bedsheets and nudge him until he bonelessly slides back, face level with your crotch.

His eyes meet yours as he presses a soft kiss to the rough denim, and another, and another, and he looks so pornographic right now with his lips against your boner, eyes boring into yours. You run a trembling hand through his sweat-damp hair and he moans, sucking you through your jeans and it’s nice and all but it’s not _enough._

“Dave,” you growl and he smirks at you, that cheeky bastard, before pressing another kiss to your clothed cock. You groan and sink back against the pillows, gripping the sheets in a trembling fist. You guess you kind of deserve this, but his mouth is _right there_ and you’re _so hard_ and he’s just- kissing you through your pants and fuck you want more, god, why is he so good at this. You almost don’t notice him unbuttoning your jeans, tugging down your zipper until he flicks your inner thigh.

“Eyes on me, Egbert,” he says, and no one should look that good with a cloth-covered dick in front of their face. In front of their lips—oh god that’s a tongue and it’s sweeping you from base to tip through your underwear and it’s so fucking _good._ You groan and buck up, or at least try to, but he’s got his hands on your hips, pressing you back into the mattress.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Okay. This is- this is his show. He’s running it. Okay. Alright. Your cock actually throbs at the thought and he has to feel it because his lips are still on you and – and he’s sucking your head and the feel of wet cotton rubbing against you is a new delicious texture through your haze of arousal. “Stop eating my underwear,” you grumble and he rolls his eyes and keeps eating your underwear. Jerk. “Wow. I knew you were a cockslut, but not this much.” He makes a sound like he’s been kicked and sucks harder at you. “I mean, you can’t even wait until you get my underwear off before you start blowing me.” You smile, run your hand through his hair and tug, hard. “What a little whore.”

He pulls off, chest heaving. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “Holy shit, _John-“_

Your hips arch off the bed, following his mouth. His hands press down and you whimper as cool air brushes over wet cotton. “Jesus fuck, how do you not hump everything in sight with a dirty mind like that.” You’re barely paying attention to his words at this point because he’s tugging your boxers off and you whine as your cock is finally freed. He leans down, licks the drop of precum off your slit and does nothing else and you tremble in his hands.

“Dave, please,” you say quietly, words thick and syrupy and he just watches you like that’ll be enough to get you off. Shit, with how turned on you are right now, it may as well be true. “Dave I- ooh.” And his tongue is on your dick again except this time there’s no barrier and he licks you, licks you again, and it’s so nice and hot and slick and _wet_. Your hand is still in his hair. You don’t tug; instead, you ghost your fingers down, cradle his cheek, touch where his jawbone reaches his neck. “Dave – _Dave –_ fuck-“

He pulls away and you whine, opening your mouth before he

sinks over the head of your dick

and you can’t stop the startled moan that slips from your mouth as you arch off the bed, pressing into his hands.

He smirks at you and swirls his tongue over the head before digging the tip of it into your slit and you’re writhing against him, pressing into his hands, his mouth, legs scrabbling as if that’ll be enough to give you more stimulation. “Fuck- that’s so good _Dave-_ “

He pops off and you groan, hips shifting from side to side since you can’t arch up. “Think you can stop yourself from bucking without my help?” He asks, quiet, and you nod, nod again because you want nothing more than to have his mouth back on you. “Alright, don’t choke me,” and he’s sinking over your head again, mouth sinfully slick and hot.

He can’t take you to the base (“that fucking meat monster is going to reach my stomach, tell me when you find someone who can deepthroat you so I can give them a fistbump” “your brother-“ “la la la la NOT LISTENING”) but he compensates with his hands, and – and there’s also one at your balls, and you’re trembling with the urge to buck up, drive into his mouth, god it feels so good but.

His touch is so light, like you’re a fragile flower, like you’ll break if he grabs you too hard—even his mouth is gentle, light sucking pressure against your head like you’re still soft and he’s trying to coax you to hardness, and you whine in frustration because you know he’s doing it on purpose and this is ridiculous, you need, you need more, you need-

He pops off, gives you that cocky smirk and you scowl back because he’s laughing at you, that dick. “What’s the matter?” He asks.

“Stop teasing.”

“Hmm. Nah.” Fuck why are you throbbing at his dismissive tone. Laughing softly, he sinks over your dick again and god the vibrations are making you delirious, lightheaded and this time he slips further – oh god – and he’s still laughing – no, not laughing, _moaning,_ you realize as you get your bearings back and look at him, actually _look_ at him.

One hand is still on your balls and the other- “Holy shit,” you groan, because his shoulder is moving and he’s squeezing you and- and- “How are you- didn’t you just- Dave oh my god, you’re such a slut, I can’t believe-“

He finally, _finally_ squeezes you tighter, sliding his lips further down until his throat is clenching your head, and you forget to breathe, choking as you fist the sheets. He slides his lips up, down, up, down, bobbing his head and he’s still moaning and finally giving you the friction, the pressure you need and-

“ _Dave I-”_ That’s all the warning you give before your hips spasm and you whine, back arching off the bed as you shoot in his mouth, and his lips are still around you and he swallows every drop and it’s fucking heavenly, god and he’s still jerking off, and now that he’s pulled himself off you, you hear his ragged breathing, and he’s flushed red and so hard.

You sit up, reach over, cover his hand with yours, and he chokes, tipping forward and straddling your thigh. “John,” he says and his voice is rough and desperate, and you pry his mouth open, biting his lip as both your hands bring him to his second orgasm.

He breathes out, hard, cradling the tip of his dick and catching his own spunk in his hand as you squeeze him through. By the time you’re done, there’s another hickey on your collar and he collapses against you, boneless and limp.

There’re cum stains on your shirt and your pants are still halfway down your legs and the vibrator is still buzzing beside you on the bed because you forgot to turn it off. Dave huffs a soft laugh, fishes around in your pocket until he finds the remote and all is quiet.

“Dave.” He doesn’t move. “Dave.” Jesus fuck, how is he so heavy when he disappears when he turns sideways? “ _Dave._ ”

“Shut up.”

“My legs are falling asleep and your hand is covered in spunk.”

“Mmm.” He scooches closer, burying his face in your shoulder and throwing both his legs over your hips. “Don’t care.”

You roll your eyes. He always gets like this after sex, loose-limbed and jellylike and satiated, and it’s cute except your legs are still falling asleep and his hand is still covered in gunk. You grunt, grabbing his thighs and swing around until you’re able to kick your pants off and amble out of bed.

He tightens his thighs around your waist and clings onto your shoulder. You swear his DNA is part monkey. “Come on, princess, showertime.”

He laughs against your throat. “You’re my little bitch, John.”

“Shut up before I dump you in the shower.” You wouldn’t do that, not while he’s like this and you both know it, but he shuts up anyway, so you count it as your win.


End file.
